Oh, Brother!
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly's brother pays her a visit, but his meeting with Sherlock does not go well. Sherlolly.


The morgue at St. Bart's was rather quiet for a Friday night, or rather, a Saturday morning. Dr. Molly Hooper had not been scheduled to work at all this evening, but a colleague's sudden illness had made it necessary for her to cover the lab/morgue for the late shift, lasting from ten in the evening until six the next morning. This would normally have not been a hardship, as Molly seemed to seldom have weekend plans lately, spending most of her Friday evenings in her flat watching telly, or delivering various fingers, toes, and assorted tissues and appendages to a certain consulting detective who loved to experiment on various body parts, excluding her own, of course. But this Friday had been different.

Late that afternoon Molly had been awakened from a nap, taken in preparation for her late shift, by progressively loud knocking at the door f her flat. It couldn't possibly be Sherlock Holmes, for he never knocked, even if the door was locked, simply letting himself in using the set of lockpicks he kept in the pocket of his Belstaff. So Molly was certainly surprised when she opened the door to find her younger brother standing on her doorstep, accompanied by diminutive young woman with long brown hair.

"Robbie!", she squealed with delight, throwing herself into his arms. She then dragged both of her visitors into the sitting room. "You should have told me you were coming!"

"Molly, this is…"

"Sharon! Of course it is! Robbie has told me so much about!" And she hugged the young woman, too.

"There's something I haven't told you, Molls. We're engaged!" Robbie pulled his new fiance closer to him and beamed with pride. "We thought we'd come to London to tell you in person. Surprise!"

Robbie had spent much of his mobile minutes for the past few months waxing poetic to his elder sister about the love of his life. She had just graduated from uni with a degree in chemistry. She was brilliant, and beautiful, and kind and generous. And certainly much too good for him, at least in his humble opinion. In Molly's opinion, the young lady would have to be all of these things in order to deserve her brother's affection. But, so far, so good.

"Molly, we're here for the weekend. I hope you don't mind us barging in like this…"

"No, no, of course not! You two can take my room, and I'll use the spare. It's only a single bed in there, remember, and the room is rather cramped."

"We don't want to put you out, Molls…"

"Nonsense!"

"And we want to look at flats. I've had a job offer in the city, and Sharon can easily find work in research here, we think…"

"Really? I'll have family close by? When's the wedding? When does the job start? And what is it? I have so many questions!" Molly was so excited she didn't know where to begin. But then tonight's obligation occurred to her. "Oh, damn it, Robbie. I have to go to work tonight! Late shift."

Her brother looked disappointed, but spoke with the same gentle, understanding tone which seemed to characterize his sister. "Not to worry, Molls. We can just go to an early dinner, and see you off to work. We'll do our catching up tomorrow, okay?"

Molly gave her brother another hug, then spent the next few hours getting to know her future sister-in-law. The girl was friendly, funny, and had a sharp wit and an easy laugh. She could easily see why her brother was so captivated. By the time she left for St. Bart's, she had high hopes for their future. Too bad these hopes didn't extend to her own.

It was now approaching five o'clock in the morning, barely an hour before the end of her shift. Dr. Hooper was currently closing the Y incision in the chest of the evening's only cadaver, a tattooed denizen of the the London underculture. Perhaps as an expression of dark humor, or a bit of prescient wisdom, the man had tattooed on his chest a dotted line in the shape of this same traditional Y incision, with the words. "OPEN HERE" immediately beneath. Perhaps as a small sign of respect, Molly had tried to adhere to the drawn lines as closely as possible. She was just cutting the last thread, when the world's only consulting detective arrived at the morgue, thankfully not wheeled in in a body bag, but under his own locomotion and covered in a Belstaff.

Molly barely looked up, as she was accustomed to his bursting into her morgue, her flat, her office, or her lab at all hours of the day or night. "Have you ever considered getting a tattoo, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped his forward momentum, stopped by her surprising question. "Certainly not!"

Molly was pleased, as she didn't want to imagine his alabaster skin marred by the dark ink of some third rate cartoonist….. Ahhh! Molly looked up to see that said alabaster skin had already been marred, yet again, by some physical altercation. Sherlock was holding a handkerchief over his left eye, and his lip was obviously cut.

"Sherlock, what happened?"

"I fear I may need your professional attention, Dr. Hopper. Although nothing so drastic as the poor fellow on the table in front of you, I hope."

The pathologist peeled off her latex gloves, and went over to examine the face of the man she care for so desperately. She immediately saw his cut and swollen lip, the bruises on his jaw, and, when she gently moved his handkerchief covered hand from his eye, discovered the beginnings of a beautiful shiner.

"Good god, Sherlock, what happened?"

"One question first, Dr. Hooper. Why does every member of your family hate me?"

From the question alone Molly deduced that a member of her family must be responsible for the injuries to the detective's face. And the only convenient relation was her brother Robbie. Kind. gentle Robbie!

"What did you do, Sherlock?"

"What did I do? I'm the victim here, Dr. Hooper!"

"Spill it, Sherlock!"

"There was a misunderstanding, or sorts, Molly. I went to you flat…"

"When Sherlock?" 

"A little after three o'clock. Why? Is the hour of my assault important, Molly. Should I have made an appointment for a more convenient time?"

"Shut up, Sherlock!" Molly stomped her foot. "No! Forget that! Go on!"

"Well, i went to your flat. I was tired, and it was closer than Baker Street. I let myself in. I knew you had been called in tonight, and the spare room is awfully cramped, you know. So I made my way to your room…"

"You were going to sleep in my bed, huh? Didn't you see that someone was already there, you git? My brother and his fiance?"

"I did see a rather petite woman with long brown hair, Molly. I made the natural assumption…."

"And left the room…"

"Not exactly. I, uh, well, I removed my shirt. And my trousers, and climbed into bed…"

"What?" Molly gasped at the thought of a half dressed Sherlock Holmes climbing into her bed. "Where was Robbie?"

"Yes, well, you see, I didn't really know there was a 'Robbie', did I? Not until I placed my arms over the woman, who I had assumed was you, after all, and she screamed out that name when she realized there was a stranger next to her. Having listened to all your stories about your family, I immediately deduced that your brother was visiting, whereupon I leaped out of the bed to excuse myself. But before I could explain, he had connected with my jaw. Thus the bruises and the cut lip."

Molly sighed, then asked, "Didn't you then explain, and identify yourself?"

"Of course I did, Molly. And as soon as I told him my name, he punched me in the eye! So, I must ask once again. Why does every member of your family hate me?"

Molly ignored the question for the moment, and went to get supplies to treat the detective's injuries. As she started to work on his face, the man began to speak. "You don't really have to tell me, you know. I know why they hate me…"

"They don't hate you, Sherlock…"

"Molly, I have met your mother on exactly two occasions, and on each of these occasions she has managed to spill hot tea on my lap. Had I not been wearing multiple layers of clothing, my ability to reproduce would be seriously in doubt!"

"Oh, thank god for that. I'd hate to deprive the world of Sherlock Holmes, the sequel!"

"And your sister? On the one occasion I met here, when I dropped the two of you off at King's Cross, she turned to me as she exited the cab and said, quite plainly, 'I really do hate you, you know'. Quite unequivocal, if I might say!"

"Sherlock, they don't hate you! They may not like you, but they don't really know you, after all." Molly sighed once again, and sat herself down on the lab stool next to the one she had placed him on to tend to his wounds. "And I'm not sure getting to know you would help, would it? You can be rather difficult, you know?"

"Molly, I know the reason for their animosity. The believe that I take advantage of you. That you are too good for me. And they are completely correct. They think that I string you along, using your infatuation to my advantage…"

"Sherlock, my feelings are my problem to deal with, not theirs. We're friends, aren't we? I'll deal with my family, you deal with yours. okay?"

"Totally different set of problems, Dr. Hooper. My family adores you! And they agree that I am not good enough for you. But, to my advantage, they do refrain from assaulting me…"

"Yes, well, I'll talk to Robbie about that. I'm sure he only punched you to defend my honor. He probably believed your intentions to be 'dishonorable', if they still even use that term, when you climbed into my bed …"

"As I just said, Dr. Hooper, your family's presumptions are entirely correct…"

Molly looked a bit stunned at this admission. "Just how 'dishonorable' are we talking, Mr. Holmes?"

"Very dishonorable indeed, Dr. Hooper."

"Bloody hell, after almost seven years, you would pick the one weekend when I have visitors, wouldn't you?

"Perhaps my timing could have been better, Molly, but you're almost off now, aren't you? Perhaps you could come to Baker Street to tend to my wounds?" The act of trying to look seductive with a black eye and a bruised and bleeding lip was certainly difficult to achieve, but Sherlock managed to pull it off.

"I'd love to deal with your injuries, and whatever else presents itself, Sherlock, but I've promised to help my brother find a flat in London this afternoon…"

"I'll make you a deal. Come home with me, and I'll have Mycroft find a home for your brother. Which means he'll have Anthea do it. But it will get done! Then we'll take your brother, and his fiance, to a fancy dinner this evening where I will once again make my apologies. And, since he's going to be living in the city, and I wish to avoid any future physical abuse, I will be on my best behavior. I may not be able to manage charming, but amiable seems within my grasp. And please remind him to bring my shirt! I barely had time to get into my trousers before I left your flat!"

"Sherlock, that sounds wonderful, but I really wanted to get to know Sharon…"

"We'll have all day Sunday to do that, Molly. I'd rather spend Saturday getting to know you. In the Biblical sense, I mean."

Molly reached to touch his face, but he winced at the contact. "Maybe we do that after the application of an ice pack and a large dose of paracetamol." Molly was blushing from head to toe, not that he could tell through the long lab coat and the dark trousers. But he certainly hoped to see it later that day!


End file.
